


Too Wise To Woo Peaceably

by leiascully



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For now, at least, yes, there would be a happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Wise To Woo Peaceably

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsavolcano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/gifts).



> Timeline: Pre-series  
> Disclaimer: _Slings &amp; Arrows_ and all related characters are the property of Mark McKinney, Susan Coyne, Bob Martin, and the Movie Network. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

When he'd fallen in love with Ellen, that had been the beginning of his descent into madness. His Ophelia, his lovely, maddening Ophelia. She had been his Juliet too, and any number of other women, but when he thought of her, later, it was as Ophelia.

Oliver didn't shove them together, exactly, but it was inevitable, wasn't it? You didn't play all the great love stories of the theatre without feeling something for your counterpart, even if it was only the urge for a hasty tumble behind the curtains or in the dressing room. And Ellen was much more than that, much more. Ellen lit up the stage when she entered. She made people _believe_. He had read the orchard scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ a hundred times, at least, and never understood it before he was standing there saying it to her. It wasn't even at dress rehearsal, it was early in the runup, and she was wearing a baggy sweater and sweatpants that didn't fit, and she still glowed like a ghost lamp in the middle of an empty stage.

They were young then, of course. Young enough to play the ingenue and the young lovelorn swain. Her hair had been long, the better to appear romantic and naive. His hair had been short. He hadn't been worldly enough then not to say the words with passion. It was _Romeo and Juliet_, for Christ's sake. It wasn't a great romance, it was a play about two idiot teenagers in the first rush of hormonal lust, and yet.

"Do you want to go for a drink?" he'd asked that night, helping her on with her coat.

"We're all going for a drink," she'd said, flushed and happy, scooping her hair out of the way as she adjusted her scarf.

"No," he'd said, "do you want to go for a drink, just you and me?"

She'd paused, twisting her hair over her shoulder so that it flipped itself free and lay in waves against her black coat. "Yeah," she'd said, "sure," and she'd smiled in that way that women had, like they were keeping secrets.

They'd gone to the theatre bar with all the rest - she insisted, something about camaraderie and not alienating the other actors, at which he scoffed and she smirked and said something sarcastic about playing nicely with the other children, as if she gave a damn about their good opinion past getting through the day's lines - but after a few minutes she excused herself to powder her nose, or whatever euphemism she was fond of at the time, and cast him a significant look on the way past, and he went to the bar for two beers and found a quiet corner dark enough for dim deeds. He thought about Ellen, her absolutely genuine interest in the cast, and her absolutely genuine apathy five minutes later as something else caught her attention. Oh yes, she was going to be one of the great ones.

"You were in there long enough," he greeted her when she returned from the direction of the loos, coat slung over her arm.

"Whats-her-name who plays Girl In Background With No Lines Number Seven in whatever they're doing on the auxiliary stage cornered me," she said, breathless. "I couldn't even understand her."

"Isn't that a breach of protocol?" he asked, amused. "Or is this one of those things that women do? When men see each other in the toilets, we pretend we didn't. A man's urinal is his castle. He pisses in solitude."

"Oh, do shut up," she said, and bent to kiss him as she slid into her seat. It made his lips tingle.

"So, Romeo, what's this going to be?" she teased. "An epic love story, or just a fling?"

"Romeo and Juliet only had three days," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes in a suitably theatrical manner. "I'm not fucking you tonight, you know," she said, with the brightest smile she'd ever seen, and sipped at her beer.

He sputtered.

"Did I say anything? Did I even suggest an implication that I expected anything out of this absolutely scintillating evening but a drink with a beautiful woman?"

"Please, Geoffrey," she scoffed. "We're all adults here. And we're all theatre people." She looked down at the beer in her glass as she lifted it to her mouth. "You'll just have to wait."

And wait he did, until the dress rehearsal, after which she pushed him up against a wall in the costume shop and kissed him until he couldn't speak. The morning after that, they had their first fight, after which they made up until the rest of the company was banging on the walls, and they were late to rehearsal.

He didn't ask her to move in until they'd wrapped _Much Ado_. Not one of the Bard's best, certainly, but witty enough. "God," Ellen complained, breathless in the wings between scenes, "I can't wait until I'm enough of a hag to play Beatrice. You'd make a much better Benedick than that bumbling asshole out on stage."

"Yes, but when will I ever be able to call you my Hero again?" he quipped, dropping a quick kiss on the back of her neck. She brushed him off, all business in show mode, and he grinned in the dark of the wings. He'd enjoyed the battle of wits and fools on the stage, Ellen's rather accurate summation of this particular Benedick notwithstanding, and he'd enjoyed the prospect of wrestling between the covers even more. Neither of them could sleep after the cast party; they stumbled back to her house and Ellen slotted in an old copy of _The Thin Man_ and they tried, in time-honored and utterly-in-vain tradition, to ward off hangovers with popcorn and glasses of water. Ellen toppled half-into his lap and lay her head on his shoulder. Geoffey let his head rest against the back of the couch, his head whirling pleasantly with booze and adrenaline. His arm was around Ellen's shoulder; idly, he stroked her elbow with his thumb. This must be what happiness felt like, he thought, and while it lasted, he might as well try to grab onto it with both hands. The whiskey he'd drunk hummed in approval. Ellen shifted against him and sighed sweetly.

"I think you should move in with me," he mumbled into her hair.

"It's my house," she murmured.

"For God's sake, Ellen, I'm trying to be _romantic_ here, could you let reality go for one tiny moment?"

"I'm sorry!" she said. "Sorry."

"Do you have some objection to living with me?" he asked.

"Of course not!" she said, half sitting up, one hand flattened against his chest.

"It's not as if we didn't live together before when we were in the house with the rest of the company," he went on. "It's not as if I spend any time at my apartment now. I'm sorry I even mentioned it."

"I didn't say I had any problem with it now!" she protested. "God, Geoffrey, maybe you could stop loving the sound of your own voice for one minute and listen to me? This is your problem - you get an idea in your head and then all you can do is imagine that everyone's conspiring against you. It's sad, Geoffrey. Really sad. I mean, if you could just realize that there is no giant plot to thwart you, you'd be so much easier to live with. For God's sake, you're not _fucking_ Prince Hamlet. You might play him in a couple of years, but Jesus, that's not your life, Geoffrey. _Your_ life is incredible, if you could just take two minutes to really _look_ at it and _listen_ to what I'm trying to say to you."

"Which is what?" he said with acerbic, exaggerated patience.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" he asked.

"Yes, move in with me."

"Oh," he said after a pause.

"Yes, _oh_," she said irritably. "God, Geoffrey. I fucking love you, you egotistical idiot, even when you're a drunken asshole. Of course I want to live with you."

"I'm glad," he said.

"Now shut up," she said, snuggling back down against him. "I'm trying to watch this movie."

He let his head fall back again. By God, he'd accomplished something tonight. He might have to wait until the wind was southerly to find out whether it would be a long farewell or a tale of star-crossed lovers, but that was what epilogues were for: reassuring the weary players that for now, at least, yes, there would be a happily ever after.


End file.
